Over Tumbled Graves [Paperback]

'An exceptional crime novel that transcends the mystery of crime and takes a courageous look at an even more profound mystery- the mystery of what it takes to continue living. As Jess Walter probes the nature of evil and its impact, he challenges his readers to reconsider their own complexity. Totally absorbing.' -- Ursula Hegi, author of Stones from the River and The Vision of Emma Blau 'Jess Walter has just about lapped the field with his superior first novel 'Over Tumbled Graves. The suspense and surprises are terrific, but best of all are the characters he has managed to create.' -- James Patterson, author of Along Came a Spider, Kiss the Girls, and Pop Goes the Weasel econstructing the Serial-Killer Industry Jess Walter is a journalist and author of two previous nonfiction books, one covering the Ruby Ridge slayings and another, In Contempt, co-authored with Christopher Darden, on the O.J. Simpson criminal trial. Though both books display Walter's flair for pacing and his ability to humanize news events, neither approaches the tremendous emotional impact of his outstanding mystery debut, Over Tumbled Graves (ReganBooks, $25). This account of a fictional series of prostitute murders in Spokane, Wash., offers a whole new perspective on serial killings. Instead of fixating on the lurid details of torture or playing to readers' fears, Over Tumbled Graves primarily follows the emotional journey of the detectives trying to stop the violence. The book also uncovers the hypocrisy and ego that plague what the author calls the "serial killer industry" -- the ever-growing tribe of reporters and so-called serial-killer trackers who specialize in turning fear into profit. In doing so, Walter offers readers a wonderfully plotted story and a very effective emotional subplot involving the relationship between his two main protagonists: Detective Caroline Mabry and her former mentor, Alan Dupree. Both officers are veterans of the Spokane Police Department, and both, for personal reasons, are desperately searching for answers about evil, justice and the fairness of life. When a series of prostitutes is found strangled and dumped near the Spokane River with $20 bills folded in their hands, it seems as if a textbook serial killer is on the loose. However, when a number of similar crimes are tied into the case, things become less clear. As the evidence departs from the traditional profile of serial murders, jockeying for power within the Spokane Police Department becomes intense. Things deteriorate further when an FBI agent and a former agent join the investigative team. Both men, who purport to be profiling experts, spend most of their time vying for media attention. Meanwhile, Mabry and Dupree are quietly using their investigative skills to help unravel the complex case. The main characters in Over Tumbled Graves come from all walks of life: a man just released from prison, a young prostitute, a female cop and her cynical male mentor, a former FBI agent tortured by his ability to envision the excitement a serial killer feels. Walter's omniscient narrative explores the inner hopes, fears and motivations of all of these people -- bringing depth and tenderness of emotion to every portrait. He rejects stereotypes, giving even the bombastic serial-killer experts enough personal quirks to define them as humans rather than cartoon characters. Throughout the book, Walter uses nature metaphors to describe the effects of crime on the human spirit and our society. Vivid descriptions of the rivers, rocks and mountains surrounding Spokane balance the horrors of the killings while underscoring the dubious contributions of mankind to our world. Walter also vividly captures the inside world of cops, with setting and dialogue so real that the reader feels as if he or she were sitting in a corner of the squad room. Subplots and character details wind through the book, masquerading as minor descriptive or plot points until the very end -- when virtually every thread comes together in a riveting ending that never sacrifices action for emotional impact, or vice versa. During this climax, small moments are revealed, in retrospect, as crucial turning points in the lives of main characters. Flaws are shown to be strengths. Evil is revealed and then redeemed. Moral ground is found. Obligations are released. And hard questions are demanded of the reader. It's an outstanding conclusion worthy of the book leading up to it. Over Tumbled Graves is, in some ways, an antidote to Hannibal. Without ever taking the easy way out, the book explores the battle of good vs. evil on very human terms -- as experienced by characters the reader can actually empathize with and like. * 'An exceptional crime novel that transcends the mystery of crime and takes a courageous look at an even more profound mystery- the mystery of what it takes to continue living. As Jess Walter probes the nature of evil and its impact, he challenges his readers to reconsider their own complexity. Totally absorbing.' -- Ursula Hegi, author of Stones from the River and T 'Jess Walter has just about lapped the field with his superior first novel 'Over Tumbled Graves. The suspense and surprises are terrific, but best of all are the characters he has managed to create.' -- James Patterson, author of Along Came a Spider, Ki 'A home run off the first pitch...a tremendous debut, full of pace and tension and unexpected twists, but also full of depth and quiet intelligence that together lift it head and shoulders above the pack.' -- Lee Child , author of Killing Floor "[An] intelligent, gripping, and genuinely scary novel about a serial killer...compelling...realistic." -- -- Otto Penzler "A Very intelligent, assured frist novel which should have the likes of Michael Connolly and Jeffrey Deaver looking anxiously over their shoulders." -- Mike Ripley, Birmingham Post. 20011229 'Over Tumbled Graves is, in some ways, an antidote to Hannibal. Without ever taking the easy way out, the book explores the battle of good vs. evil on very human terms -- as experienced by characters the reader can actually empathize with and like." -- New Review 20011229 "A most accomplished debut." -- The Sunday Telegraph 20020113 'Insightful and absorbing, and a superb first novel for Walter' -- Tangled Web 20020113 "An intelligent, thoughtful novel." -- The Sunday Telegraph 20020113 'A strong, character-driven serial-killer thriller...complex...fresh' -- Publishers Weekly 20010201 'An accomplished character study...A very satisfying debut' -- Booklist 20010201

"A most accomplished debut."

'Insightful and absorbing, and a superb first novel for Walter'

"[An] intelligent, gripping, and genuinely scary novel about a serial killer...compelling...realistic." --

Spokane, Washington, a bustling city split by hurtling white-water falls. One afternoon a young woman's body is found buried in a riverside park - then a second body, then a third. Before the week is out Caroline Mabry is plunged into a full-blown hunt for a serial murderer her colleagues have nicknamed the Southbank Strangler. As Caroline and her troubled mentor, Alan Dupree, bridle under an investigation overrun by headline-grabbing "specialists" and bean-counting statisticians. As they close in on a suspect Caroline and Alan confront dark truths about the killer-hunting industry - and about their attraction to each other. And in the end they come face-to-face with an evil very different - and far more alarming - than the one they thought they were chasing.

Jess Walter has covered the rash of Pacific Northwest serial Killings, including the recent arrest of alleged serial killer Robert L. Yates in Spokane last Spring, for the Washington Post and other national media. Co-author of Christopher Darden's number one bestseller In Contempt and the author of the non-fiction book Every Knee Shall Bow, Walter lives in Spokane with his family.

Caroline Mabry was transfixed by falling water. For her, the river had other currents, pulling her to its banks when she was upset or distracted, when she wanted to lose herself. She did this most often at the falls – the dramatic series of rocky, churning rapids at the center of her city. Determined upstream, even languid and eddied in places, the Spokane River began to tumble here, to froth and roil, and eventually to fall.
Sometimes the river’s pull surprised Caroline. She would be running errands or jogging or riding her bike and suddenly find herself here, on the footbridge between the upper falls and the Monroe Street Dam. She was amazed by this place, by what it meant for a city to have at its heart a tumbling, roaring waterfall. Here, overwhelmed by scale, she could drift into epiphanies of scope and flow and believe that a river has a purpose more vital than transportation or power. The river cleansed the city, carried away its debris, its sump and its suicides. The river irrigated the long, gray wound of civilization. Over time she’d begun to bring her own chronic infections to the river, her random loneliness and cyclic despair, her isolation. And if she wasn’t cured by the falls, her jagged anxieties were at least dispersed, drowned out by white water, dwarfed by boulders that jutted like broken bones from the river’s skin.
Caroline paused on a footbridge over the falls, checked her watch, and finished crossing, pushing the baby stroller deeper into the park, over an embankment covered with people and blankets, Frisbees and Hacky Sacks, to a still arm of the river, dammed off from the rocky channel across the park as a place for ducks and park benches, for lovers and quiet contemplation. The Spokane River was steel and steady here, gray, moving like molten metal between its banks. Caroline wondered what it meant to be more comfortable with the airy roar of the falls than with this pleasant meandering, this stillness. But she blinked away her doubts and concentrated, wheeling her stroller along the sidewalk, finding her place. Waiting.
At thirty-six, Caroline Mabry looked ten years younger and felt ten years older, with round green eyes and short brown hair that softened her tall, athletic build. She stood next to the stroller at the base of a wide footbridge and leaned against a piling to tie her new running shoes. Looking up, she made eye contact across the bridge with a transient who had been in the park all day, a transient in new running shoes. Then, as if operating from a checklist, Caroline stretched, bent at the waist in her nylon running suit, pushed away from the piling, checked on her baby, put on her sunglasses, and surveyed the park.
The park that day had a strange but familiar feel, very much like a map on a wall, with pins marking the major players. But it was also tinged with a fleeting déjà vu, a sensation Caroline had always imagined was akin to losing one’s mind, attaching meaning to every movement. Looking around the park, she allowed herself to believe that none of it was real – not the Frisbees, not the dogs, not even the river, and certainly not herself, a young mother out for a walk on a sunny day in the park. Across the bridge, a businessman on a park bench paused to look up from his two-day-old Wall Street Journal, caught her eye, and smiled. Her own thoughts seemed deafening, as if everyone would know what she was thinking, and wonder how she knew the businessman had been there all day and that he was wearing the same brand of ninety-dollar running shoes as the transient, the same as she was.
The three – Caroline with her baby, the transient with his pack, the businessman with his newspaper – made a sort of triangle around the wide footbridge, Caroline on one side, the other two across the bridge. In the middle of the triangle, just over the bridge on the side of the businessman and the transient, was a sinewy black kid in baggy carpenter pants, a white T-shirt, untied cross-trainers, and a New York Giants football cap. His name was Kevin Hatch, but he went by the street name Burn, a fact that Caroline knew as well. If someone did share her thoughts, that person would be amazed at the things she knew, the nearsighted omniscience she had in the park that day, like a god who knows everything except what will happen next.